


Cabin In The Woods

by lola381pce



Series: Imagine Clint Coulson Prompts [7]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Another "short fic" That Got Away From The Author!!, BAMF Phil Coulson, Blow Jobs, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Foul Language and Swirls of Leather Coat, Hand Jobs, Human Phil, Human Phil Coulson, ImagineClintCoulson, M/M, Nick Fury Swears, Nick Fury is a Good Bro, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Phil Coulson & Nick Fury Friendship, Supernatural Elements, Tumblr Prompt, Werewolf Clint, Werewolf Clint Barton, Werewolves, cabin in the woods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 01:50:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10843992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce
Summary: For an anonymous Imagine Clint Coulson prompt:Clint the lonely were wolf gets hurt and runs into human Phil. And on his couch he gets all better.





	Cabin In The Woods

**Author's Note:**

> We are always accepting new prompts at our tumblr account, so feel free to drop by with a little headcanon or ask.

As the Lexus SUV ate up the miles, Phil could feel the tension slowly seep from his body. It was the first proper vacation he’d taken in five years. The odd long weekend here and there had always been enough before but recently his jaw muscles had begun to ache from keeping his legendary unflappable façade in place and worse than that, he found himself agreeing with his oldest friend’s recent assessment of him over a drink or twenty before being poured into a cab and taken home.

“Fuck sake, Cheese! When did you become such a grumpy motherfucker? All snappy n shit. You been acting like someone took a _dump_ in your favourite pair of shoes and wiped their _ass_ with your tie.”

Admittedly he wouldn’t have put it quite so colourfully but then he wasn’t Nick. Still, the sentiment was pretty accurate.

The following day his ‘oldest friend’, and incidentally his boss, had thrown him a set of keys and told him, “For the cabin in the woods. Not been up there in a few years. It’s a _rickety-ass_ shack probably in need of a clean and some repairs but it’ll do you good to use your hands instead of your head for a change. And before you say anything, I am _not_ doing this for you, I am _doing_ this for the rest of us. Don't want you killing someone with a goddamn paperclip. _Again_."

Phil rolled his eyes which hurt - a lot. _Jeez_! You do something one time...

Ignoring the eye roll and glaring back instead, Fury continued. "Go home. Get packed. I don't want to see your _stupid-ass_ face back here sooner than a fortnight cuz if I do…” The rest was lost in barrage of foul-language and swish of leather coat as he departed Phil's office.

So here he was, heading into the wilderness (well, Sullivan County, NY) to fix up his friend’s cabin (free of charge) and generally do nothing for a fortnight. Two weeks. Fourteen days… he was going to be so damned bored!

***

Nick was a dick! And ha that it rhymed. He should have known better to think that the asshole was exaggerating about the state of the cabin but… nooooo! If anything he’d underplayed it. He’d been there a couple of days now and only _just_ begun to make it properly habitable. And there was still a shitload of work to do.

Nick was also a hell of a good friend. He’d been right about using his hands instead of his head. His muscles ached, his hands and knees hurt and his pride had taken a dent when he’d fallen backwards through the handrail and off the porch having forgotten it needed repaired too. But he was no longer coiled like an over-tightened spring ready to snap at the slightest noise. Which was fortunate because there were a hell of a lot of noises out here... in the middle of nowhere… an hour’s drive from the nearest town. It was a good thing he didn’t scare easily. Especially when he could swear on at least a couple of occasions he was being watched.

It was also a good thing the cabin didn’t have a trapdoor leading to a spooky junk-filled basement and two way mirrors in the bedrooms. Seriously, _why_ was that the movie he’d fallen asleep to the night he and Nick had gotten drunk?

***

It was the golden eyes he saw first followed the streak of fur as it shot out from the woods into his path. Phil had already started to brake, and was yanking hard on the wheel to take avoiding action but with the dull thud he heard he knew he hadn't missed the animal completely. He steered into the skid before coming to a halt as quickly as possible then looked in his rear view mirror. Fuck! He hadn’t missed it at all.

He carefully reversed the SUV back to the unmoving mound in the road and stopped a couple feet from it. Removing his Glock from the glove compartment, he checked it, loaded a round into the chamber and stepped out of the vehicle, slowly walking the last few steps towards the animal making sure to approach it from the front. He could see faint puffs of breath along with the shallow rise and fall of the wolf’s ribs for it was a wolf that lay on the asphalt. Double fuck! He must have caught it hard. And it was a beauty too.

As he neared it, the wolf raised its head and drew back its lips in a snarl. It tried to stand but its legs buckled beneath it and it dropped down again. Keeping his pistol down by his leg Phil’s left hand was open, palm facing forward in a placating gesture. He stopped in front of the animal and watched. He really didn’t want to shoot it, but if it was injured beyond help it may be his only choice.

Panting slightly, the wolf looked at him, its intelligent eyes boring into his before its gaze dropped to his gun hand to stare at the firearm almost as though it knew what it was. After a moment its eyes returned to Phil and in that second he knew the choice had been taken from him.

He flicked the safety back on the pistol and slipped it into his jacket pocket - not ideal but the best option for now.

“Okay,” he said calmly, keeping his voice low and soft not wishing to frighten the animal. “N-o-o-o-o-t gonna hurt you. Well… not more than I have already. Sorry about that… the car thing. But… I’m not leaving you in the road. Not sure how this is gonna work, seeing as you’re w-a-a-a-a-y bigger than I am, but… how about we get you into the car. What d’you say, big guy? Just gonna walk over here, open the door, and… suddenly I’m talking to myself.”

Phil huffed out a quiet laugh. The wolf had either been faking the injury (smartass) or, more probably, had only been dazed and had recovered enough to be able to make his getaway when Phil’s back was turned. Probably just as well. Leather or not, Fury would kick his ass for getting wolf hair and mud on his seats.

***

A few nights later Phil started awake his hand automatically reaching under the pillow for his Glock. He sat up and cocked his head to the side listening. Moments later he heard the crack of a rifle followed by another then silence. In the distance he thought he could hear shouting but couldn’t be certain from which direction either the shots or the voices came.

He rolled out of bed, snagged a pair of jeans from his chair quickly pulling them on and shoved his feet into his boots not bothering to lace them up. Putting a round in the chamber, he crept through to the living area, pausing for another listen on the way. This time he heard nothing.

“Pretty sure this is how most cabin-in-the-woods horror movies start,” he muttered to himself as he unlocked the door and headed outside into the cool night air. The hair on his body started to rise but he wasn’t sure if it was the drop in temperature or the intensity of the situation. Either way his instincts were on alert. And he was regretting not pulling on a sweater at least.

Pistol raised, left hand with his flashlight hovering just above the forearm of his gun hand, he carefully and quietly he crept round the perimeter but saw nothing out of the ordinary except… he was sure he’d secured the door to the woodshed earlier. Flicking the safety off the pistol, he eased it open and shone the flashlight in. First sweep revealed nothing, but a second picked up the glint of a pair of eyes. A pair of familiar golden eyes.

“Huh!”

Carefully Phil secured and lowered his weapon along with the light. Pissing off a cornered wolf… not such a good idea. The dipped beam elongated the shadows against the walls of the shed making the beast look huge. For one bizarre moment he was reminded of the fairy tale, ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ and it almost made him laugh. Almost. Instead he slowly began to back away until he was outside again. Best course of action under the circumstances he felt. If he left the door open, the wolf could leave when it was ready.

There was the sharp snap of a twig from the treeline behind him. He whirled round, gun and flashlight raised again.

“Don’t shoot, man. Don’t shoot.”

This late at night, or technically early in the morning, seemed a pretty strange time for anyone to be out hunting _if_ that’s what they were doing. Still, he lived in the city, what did he know? He just hoped this wasn’t Sullivan County’s version of a Zombie Redneck Torture Family. The guy says his name’s Buckner he was just going to shoot him and fill out the paperwork with the nearest town Sheriff.

Coulson eased the pressure of his finger on the trigger but didn’t lower his weapon.

“Help you… at 01:30hrs?” he asked. His voice was as dry as the snapping twig.

“Ehh… chasing down a wolf. Been spookin’ my cattle.”

Phil nodded in understanding. “Ah. Not so good. What you got? Holsteins or Angus?”

The ‘farmer’ gave him a blank look.

Phil only just managed not to roll his eyes. He might live in the city but he was born in Wisconsin and knew his dairy cattle from his beef. He tried again. “Milkers or beef?”

“Ehh… milkers?”

“Don’t sound so sure there, Mr Buckner. How about you head on home before I have to report a shooting incident at 01:32hrs.”

“Name’s not Buckner. Ahh, shooting incident? What kinda shooting incident?” He sounded worried.

Coulson flicked off the safety making sure Mr Name’s-not-Buckner was well aware of what he was doing. Even from this distance Phil could hear the man swallow. Good!

“The wolf…?” Mr Name’s-not-Buckner croaked.

“The wolf has any sense he’ll be laughing at you from your cow barn about now. Getting very close to 01:32hrs, Mr Buckner.”

“Name’s not…”

Phil had had enough. He raised his gun and growled, “01:32.”

Name’s-not-Buckner hightailed it out of there.

Phi huffed out a short laugh and lowered his Glock, thumbing the safety on again. When he was sure everything was quiet and there’d be no further interruption from any more of the potential Zombie Redneck Torture Family, he headed back to the cabin securing the door behind him… and that’s when he felt eyes boring into the back of his head. Aww crap! Slowly he turned around to the see the wolf staring at him. Rookie mistake, Coulson he chided himself.

“Well now, big guy. We going to have a problem? Pretty much saved your ass back there so…” Phil stopped and frowned as the beam from his flashlight caught the wolf’s foreleg.

“Huh! Guess he was a better hunter than farmer.”

There was a trail of blood leading from the upper part of the wolf’s foreleg to his paw. He couldn’t see clearly from this distance but it looked as though it should be treated rather than left. The bullet might still be in it. He just hoped it hadn't broken the bone.

“Last time I tried to help you, you took off and… I get that but… that doesn’t look so good. And... smart as I think you are, you’re a wolf. You have no idea what I’m saying, do you?”

The wolf’s mouth opened and it panted at him looking suspiciously like it was laughing. Once again the wolf looked at the gun in Phil’s hand then back at his face.

Phil sighed. This was getting weird. Even for one thirty-something in the morning in the middle of the woods this was very weird.

“Not gonna shoot you,” he told the beast, turning a couple of lights on, setting the Glock down carefully. He continued into the room to lean against the arm of the couch, ankles crossed, arms folded over his chest, looking as unassuming and relaxed as possible under the circumstances. He hoped the hammering of his heart in his chest wasn’t loud enough to give him away.

“So...you gonna let me clean that or… you gonna eat me with those big teeth of yours?”

The wolf looked at him for a moment appraising him then grumbled before limping across to rub his face and head against Phil’s hip. Yup, _sooo_ weird.

“I’ll take that as a yes then,” he said with a grin.

By 02:35hrs Phil was back in bed the door to his bedroom locked and the gun within easy reach. Tired as he was it took him a long time to drop off to sleep. And it wasn’t just the wolf sleeping in the living room that was making him nervous. Something was off. His experience with wolves was admittedly pretty limited but he was damned positive they didn't act like that… wild ones anyway. Maybe it was an escapee from a nearby sanctuary. And hunters don't generally pretend to be farmers unless they're hiding something which would also explain being out at that time in the morning, in the dark. Yeah. All Phil’s instincts screamed at him that something was _very_ off.

The next morning turned out to be just as eventful.

***

“Mind telling me where you came from?” Phil asked the stranger lying on his couch. Admittedly the somewhat sexy stranger, all muscular shoulders and arms and messy blonde hair, lying on his couch.

“Ahh, is that coffee I smell?” the man replied, his voice rough with sleep. He yawned and sat up rubbing the back of his neck in a way Phil found pretty damn hot.

The sexy shoulders and arms were attached to a broad, almost hairless chest save for a small spread between the pecs and a sexy tuft around his bellybutton, and well-defined abs that were more than a little distracting. Thankfully the rest was covered by the blanket from the back of the couch. He gave himself a mental shake. He really should stow that shit. This guy broke into the cabin in the middle of the night… well, early morning, without setting off the alarm; chased off a large wolf with no commotion… hard to believe; and fell asleep on his couch. Okay, Fury’s couch. Semantics.

“It is. And now that I’ve answered _your_ question, how about you answer mine.” It was obvious Phil expected a reply this time - sooner rather than later.

The stranger respected that. He eyed the Glock in his unintentional host’s hand; and the way he held it, casually but seriously, the way someone plenty used to handling firearms would do it. That too he respected.

“It might sound better after a coffee,” he argued hopefully with a cocky grin.

“It might,” agreed Coulson mildly, a slow smile forming on his lips, “but… let's say you humour me first and try without it.”

The stranger sighed. He considered his words for a few moments before speaking again. “We’ve met before. A few nights ago… and again last night.”

Phil’s eyes narrowed. He was pretty sure he’d remember if this was Mr Name’s-Not-Buckner and unless he was seriously losing it, handsome stranger and ~~Zombie Redneck~~ … the hunter were nothing alike. And if he’d met him in town a few nights ago he figured he remember him even _with_ clothes!

“Huh! How about you try again.”

The stranger stared at Coulson as though weighing him up. If he didn’t know better he'd say it was eerily similar to the wolf’s expression the previous night. Boy did he need more sleep!

With his eyes still on Coulson, the other man ‘tried again’. “You hit me with your car a couple of nights ago. The black Lexus SUV? Not too much damage, just winded me, gave me a nice bruise on my hip. Although I appreciate you trying to avoid me.”

The stranger ducked his head and flashed him a quick grin. At Phil's rapidly changing expression however, he quickly carried on.

“Last night… you cleaned up my foreleg from a bullet wound. Your hands were… gentle. But your humour’s kinda… well, shit. You talked about Captain America, and your time in the Rangers, and your asshole friend Nick who owns this place.”

As the stranger spoke the colour began to drain from Phil's face. The implication was unbelievable. Impossible. Wasn’t it? But then Phil had seen a lot of strange and fucked up things in his lifetime. Many of which he, nor anyone else, could explain. Why would a werewolf sleeping on his couch - Nick’s couch, semantics - be any more incredible?

To give further credence to his wild story, the stranger dropped his head forward then raised it, locking his eyes on Phil’s. The familiar pair of golden eyes stared at him intently, willing him not to shoot. Or freak out. At least, not too much.

They stayed like that for a few uncomfortable moments until Phil asked casually, “How’s the leg?”

The werewolf (that was going to take some getting used to) snorted then laughed, a full belly laugh that put the colour back in Phil’s cheeks and an interested twitch in his cock.

“Shit! You’re a cool fucker, aren’t you?”

“And that's before my morning coffee. Imagine me after,” he replied dryly making the stranger laugh again.

“Speaking of, I don't suppose…?” he asked, the hopeful tone back in his voice.

Phil finally gave him a wide smile. “Wasn’t planning on sharing but then... I wasn’t planning on finding an unknown man in my living room. I guess I can spare a cup. Name’s Phil by the way.”

“Clint. And hopefully not so unknown after coffee.”

As he introduced himself Clint got up from the couch, his hand rubbing the back of his neck in that hot way that Phil appreciated. And that’s not all he appreciated. As Clint stood, the blanket that had pooled around his waist, slipped off and fell to the floor leaving nothing to the imagination. Phil looked then quickly looked away tilting his head to the side, his face flushing scarlet. So much for being a cool fucker.

He cleared his throat and mumbled about bringing him some clothes, “...uh, sweats or something…” before disappearing through to his bedroom.

Clint chuckled to himself glad that there was something that could make the seemingly unflappable hot dude, flap. Poor choice of words cuz, to be honest, nothing was flapping - more… beginning to stand to attention. So sue him if he had a competence kink. And boy, did Phil exude it. And it doesn't help that he’s incredibly easy on the eye too (if not the libido). The heavy scruff along his jawline, the blue / grey eyes he could get lost in were he to be given the chance, and the sleeves of the soft grey sweater he's wearing (that allows a tantalising amount of chest hair to peek out from the neck) are pushed up to his elbows displaying surprisingly powerful forearms. Yeah. _Very_ easy on the eye.

However he was also pretty annoyed at himself. He should have been awake and gone before anyone else was up but he’d been so tired and the healing process can be so damn draining. And for the first time in a long time, he’d felt… safe. His instinct to find sanctuary at the cabin seemed to be justified cuz Phil was taking this whole werewolf thing incredibly well. Clint wasn’t exactly sure what that meant or said about the guy but he was grateful he hadn’t shot first and asked questions later. Wouldn’t be the first time _that_ had happened.

As he mulled things over, Clint pulled on the clothes that Phil had returned with before disappearing again, this time to the kitchen going by the sound of clinking mugs. Once dressed, he followed his nose.

Hearing movement behind him, Phil turned and gave Clint a quick smile noting the way his t-shirt pulled tight across Clint’s chest. Well fuck if that wasn’t seriously hot.

“I should look at that bullet wound,” he said gruffly trying to hide his arousal as he poured the fresh made coffee into two mugs. He pointed to a carton of milk and a sugar pot on the counter.

Clint wrinkled his nose and shook his head in the negative which made Phil huff out a short laugh. Another thing he mentally added to his list of ‘Seriously Hot Clint Things’.

“Don’t want to be a bother,” he said accepting a mug full of coffee. He pressed his lips against the rim and inhaled the scent before taking a deep pull of it savouring the flavour in his mouth. Strong, smooth and black. Pefect!

“It’s no bother. I wouldn’t be following my medic training if I didn’t at least check to see how it was doing,” Phil returned, adding both milk and sugar before taking a long swallow of his own.

Military then, Clint thought not really surprised. He didn’t want to tell him that thanks to his care, it had almost healed overnight while he slept on the couch. He rather liked the thought of Phil’s hands roaming over him when he was in human form. It wasn’t quite the same when he was Wolf.

“Well in that case, far be it from me to break the sacred code of the medic.”

“You’re making fun of me now,” Phil said, peering over the rim of his mug.

Clint shrugged and flashed him another grin in response.

“You know.., you’re taking this whole werewolf thing really well,” Clint told him after giving him another considered look.

“I kind of am, amn’t I? Must be because I’m such a cool fucker.”

“Must be.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable as such, just… intense with lingering looks and teasing smiles. They knew they were going to end up in bed together; it was just a matter of when, and if it should happen on an empty stomach.

“Sooo… should we do this before or after breakfast?” Phil asked, taking the last mouthful of his coffee, setting the mug down on the surface.

Clint nodded in agreement and added, “Just for clarification purposes, _this_ being...?”

“Checking your bullet wound,” Phil replied innocently. However, the innocence didn’t quite reach his eyes which sparkled with mischief. “Why? Was something else on your mind?”

“Nope. Checking me sounds about right. But I’m sure you’ll like what you see,” he replied wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Phil snorted. “I’m sure I will. Do you want to do it here or… “

He stopped short as Clint pulled off his tee and leaned back against the countertop, arms spread putting everything on show. Phil’s mouth went dry making it hard for him to swallow (not the only thing that went hard in that moment) but swallow he did, his adam’s apple bobbing in slow motion. Clint followed the movement, the tip of his tongue flicking out to lick his lips.

Never had Phil's self-control been so sorely tested as he walked over to Clint. He didn’t look at his face nor the self-satisfied smirk, willing his eyes to stay fixed on the area of arm (foreleg?) where Wolf-Clint had been shot. But it didn’t stop the warm feeling in his belly, or the surprise from showing in his face when he realised the wound had closed overnight, the skin knitting together forming a scar that looked more like five days rather than five hours old.

Leaning down for a better look, he reached out to touch it then hesitated gazing up at Clint for permission. He nodded and Phil gently traced the ridge of healed tissue with his fingertips. Clint couldn’t quite hold back the shiver from the contact.

“That’s...wow,” Phil breathed. “Does it still hurt?”

Managing to keep it together (more or less) Clint smiled at the note of wonder in Phil’s voice. “Nah, it’s good. A little tight, itchy maybe.”

Phil straightened his spine again giving Clint his own half-smile as he stood. They were only a few inches apart.

“I didn’t expect that,” he said carefully, trying to keep his eyes on Clint’s and not on his mouth. Unfortunately his brain had other ideas and had his gaze flitting between the two.

“Oh? You disappointed?” Clint asked, moving a shade closer. His voice was low, and despite the fact they’d met each other (officially at any rate) not more than an hour before, admittedly under pretty intense circumstances, and the spark of attraction between them that had been there from the start had intensified, the air becoming charged like the air before a storm.

“No.” It came out a strangled croak. Phil could feel all his cool deserting him. He hadn’t been drawn to someone like this in a long time… if ever. It was throwing him. Fortunately some semblance of control returned and his next words were less strained, if somewhat gravelly.

“Just… surprised.”

“Mmm.”

Clint stroked his fingers slowly down the sleeve of Phil’s sweater, through the wiry hair of those sexy forearms and leaned in close enough to whisper in his ear, “You know, this is nice but I prefer what you were wearing last night.”

Phil closed his eyes for a second as Clint’s warm breath blew over his sensitive skin then pulled back with a puzzled look on his face. “Last night? But… I wasn’t wearing anyth… ohhh.”

He blushed as the realisation set in. Last night he’d been wearing jeans and boots, nothing else. Clearly it hadn’t gone unnoticed. Clint smirked at him.

“What happened to the cool, Phil?” he teased, his hand still resting on Phil's forearm, thumb gently brushing his wrist.

“Funny. I was just thinking the same thing,” he replied with a bashful half-smile that turned Clint’s insides into mush. Cool or self-conscious, Phil was fucking hot.

Clint leaned in, signalling his intent by dropping his gaze to Phil’s mouth and when he felt Phil’s hand gently cupping the back of his head drawing him closer he went with it, pressing their lips together before opening his mouth to deepen the kiss. Phil groaned. Or he groaned. Hell! Maybe it was both of them together. Either way things got messy and handsy and fucking amazing.

They broke apart just long enough to drag Phil’s sweater off. A shame in a way, it felt really nice; soft beneath his hands. However it gave full access to Phil’s skin and that was oh so much better. The heat of it, the smoothness occasionally marked by a ridge of scar tissue, or pucker of a bullet wound, those fucking gorgeous freckles sprinkled across his shoulders and down his arms.

Clint moaned. Yeah that was _definitely_ him. Caused by a certain cool fucker who was mouthing along his jaw to the pulsepoint below his ear kissing, sucking and licking at it in a way that almost brought Clint to tears.

“Oh fuck!” he gasped, as the mouthing was joined by a firm hand sliding over his cock, skillfully squeezing and rubbing him through the sweats. Much more of that and he was going to go off like a rocket. Oops! Had he thought that or said it out loud?

“Good to know,” Phil murmured into his throat (out loud then), slipping his hand behind the waistband of the sweats to the smooth skin of Clint’s cock, rubbing his thumb over the tip circling around the slit through the pre-come that had gathered.

Clint moaned and dropped his head against Phil’s shoulder as his hand slowly, teasingly stroked his length.

“Maybe we should take this somewhere else…” Phil breathed against Clint’s neck.

“Maybe you’re doing a fucking amazing job exactly where we are,” Clint argued, raising his head, not wanting Phil’s touch to end.

“Mmmm. Wanna see you though.”

He had Clint there. He wanted to see Phil too.

“C’n fix that,” he grinned. He drew back and pushed down the sweatpants stepping out of them in all his bare-assed finery, kicking them to the side. Phil ogled. There was no other word. He completely and utterly ogled the perfect form before him. And all he wanted was to get his hands and his mouth on as much of it as possible.

With a smug expression, Clint gave his cock, his hard and dripping cock that curved enticingly up towards his belly, a few quick strokes humming with pleasure as he did so.

“C’mon Phil,” he rasped. “Live a little.”

 _Fuck it_! Phil thought as he quickly joined Clint in his naked state.

This - whatever _this_ was - was completely out of character for him. He was normally calm and controlled with every plan worked out in advance, rarely doing anything on impulse but… there was something about Clint that made him want to be reckless. To throw caution aside and get caught up in the heat of the moment. And so he did.

He had no idea if there were any supplies in the cabin other than the small bottle of lube he brought with him (for jerking off purposes should he have the inclination; he'd never actually considered meeting someone to use it with). The seal remained unbroken, and the bottle was currently in his room which was miles away; too far to fetch.

Improvising, he snagged a bottle of olive oil from the countertop pouring a small amount into his palm before wrapping his fist around Clint’s shaft in a firm grip. He moved his hand with a gentle pressure along Clint’s cock, the stimulation pulling obscene noises from him.

Phil’s hold was perfect around him, loose with long, slow strokes gliding smoothly up and down his whole length tightening occasionally near the tip in short, fast bursts before curving his palm over the head, sliding over the pre-come that leaked from his slit.

“Fuck! Oh fuck!” Clint cried out bucking his hips, grabbing at Phil’s shoulders to keep upright. Phil curled his left hand around the sharp bones of Clint’s hip rubbing the skin with his thumb.

“Good?” Phil purred into his ear, nipping the lobe.

“Yes! Fuck yes! Don’t stop. Don’t… fucking stop.”

Clint felt as though his brain was going to short out from the sensations Phil was giving him as he varied his speed and the pressure of his fist. And each time Clint thought he was about to come, Phil would sense it and change direction, his thumb pointing downward giving him a whole bunch of different sensations. Before long a low growl started in his throat which startled Phil making him wonder if he’d woken the beast in Clint but when it continued, building into a deep rumble, he realised it was a show of pleasure and relaxed carrying on as before.

“Oh fuck! That’s it… that’s…” Clint was becoming incoherent and it wasn’t much longer before he felt his balls tighten, heat spreading from his belly to his groin, and he knew this time he wouldn’t be able to hold it off.

He dropped his forehead against Phil’s shoulder, hands sliding down to tightly grasp the firm muscles of Phil’s upper arm as he thrust into his fist before finally letting the orgasm take him, grunting as he pulsed drops of come over Phil’s hand and his own stomach. Phil kept stroking him through it keeping his pace steady until Clint gave his arms a squeeze to signal he’d had enough.

“Okay?” Phil asked, pressing his lips to Clint’s hair.

Clint tilted his head slightly to look at him, his expression blissed out and, generally pretty much fucked.

“Yeah…” he drawled, a slow grin spreading over his face. “You’re a cool fucker, aren’t you.”

Phil smiled at him, feeling more than a little pleased with himself that he’d managed to make this gorgeous creature come apart like that with just his hand. He wondered what he'd be like with his mouth and his dick. But before he could say anything, smug or otherwise, Clint pulled away from him slipping to his knees with a grace that Phil could only envy to take him in his mouth.

Phil moaned as Clint swallowed him down, sliding the flat of his tongue over the ridges and veins of his cock before pulling back to tease the head, swirling his tongue around it exploring the corona with the tip. Tasting the drops of pre-come beading along the slit, he lapped them up with a sense of purpose that drove Phil wild, making him gasp and curse. Clint wasn’t complaining. Like a lot of things Phil did, he found it fucking hot.

Clint sucked and played with Phil's head while his left hand stroked him from the root all the way back to Clint's lips which were fully occupied on a mission to try and remove Phil’s brain through his cock. Slowly he drew him deeper into his warm, wet mouth before pulling back to the tip so he could slide up and down Phil’s length, every so often putting in a small twist of his hand as he reached the base.

Phil grunted. His hand fell to Clint’s hair, running his hand through it before gripping a handful giving it a gentle tug. Clint groaned at the sudden sharp pain discovering he liked it… a lot. This noise had the added benefit of sending vibrations along Phil's cock which _he_ discovered he liked… a _whole_ lot.

“Fuck! Close. So close,” he panted in warning.

Clint gazed up the length of Phil's body and hollowed his cheeks as he gave him a particularly long and deep suck, encouraging him to do just that. Phil couldn’t hold back any longer. His breath caught in his throat, his whole body going tense then trembling as the orgasm crashed over him, wave after wave rolling over his nerve endings, battering his senses. Clint held onto him swallowing every drop that spilled from him.

Once Phil stopped shaking and his breathing returned to something vaguely approaching normal, Clint made his way up his body kissing and nibbling at his skin, licking a trail along the valley of a hip dent (hip dents for fuck sake), finally grazing his teeth over Phil’s nipple making him curse again.

“Good?” Clint asked, mouthing along the scruff of Phil’s jaw, to nuzzle against the soft skin below his ear.

Phil hummed in appreciation, not quite able to vocalise his thoughts. It appeared Clint had been successful in his mission of sucking Phil’s brain through his dick.

Phil brushed his nose against Clint’s cheek as he wrapped his arms around him, the tips of his fingers gently stroking the dimples just above his ass. Clint turned his head to press his lips against Phil’s starting a kiss that was slow and deep and tender; a perfect end to all the sass and innuendos and teasing that had gone on before.

“Bed or breakfast?” Phil asked softly, when they finally parted to breathe.

“Pretty sure it's supposed to be bed _and_ breakfast,” Clint murmured into Phil's ear, nibbling the shell, making him hum with pleasure.

“Smartass,” he returned, smiling.

Clint suddenly gave a huge yawn, prompted by the suggestion of bed and helped, no doubt, by the shattering orgasm he had earlier.

“I'm going to suggest bed for a nap,” Phil decided for them. He was still tired from his broken and patchy sleep from the night before, not to mention his own powerful orgasm moments ago, and figured a few more hours wouldn't hurt.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Almost shyly, Phil led Clint by the hand through to his room. He pointed out the bathroom on the way past. They may just have had sex in the kitchen but this was so new for both of them that getting into bed seemed weird and strangely awkward.

Phil nodded towards the door. “Why don’t you…”

At the same time Clint pointed his thumb over his shoulder to the same place, “Maybe I’ll…”

They grinned at each other and Clint disappeared to the bathroom to clean himself up giving Phil time to survey the room and tidy a few scattered items away.

It was a large bedroom with minimal furnishings but Clint still managed to brush against Phil on his way to the bed, sneaking a quick kiss as he past him.

When Phil came back from his turn he was amused to find Clint starfished under the sheets in the dead centre of the bed. Clint smirked up at him.

“Didn’t know if you slept on the left or right so…”

“Occupying whole bed seemed like middle ground?”

“Well when you say it like that,” Clint pouted. Another thing for Phil’s List.

Phil chuckled and climbed in the side nearest the door, old habits, lying on his left facing into the bed. Clint turned so that he was on the same side and wriggled back until he was being spooned by Phil, his body curled around him holding Clint loosely in his arms. Phil nuzzled his nose against Clint's neck and sighed happily, stroking his fingers gently along his skin.

“No funny business,” Clint chided, pushing back against him reveling in Phil’s embrace and the warmth of his body, the feel of wiry chest hair tickling his back.

“No funny business,” Phil agreed, even though it would be so easy to press his lips to Clint's skin and pepper it in soft, butterfly kisses. With that thought in mind he slowly drifted off.

***

Clint did get his breakfast; a huge pile of pancakes with fresh fruit and crispy turkey bacon (turkey bacon?!?) and maple syrup. And coffee. Of course coffee. But that was after Phil stroked them both to orgasm, the seal on his little bottle of lube finally broken, the contents liberally coating both their cocks gripped firmly in Phil's fist as he glided up and down their lengths, the extra friction of their shafts rubbing together pulling deep moans and breathy sighs from each of them.

Phil was on his knees straddling Clint's hips; Clint on his back, his arms stretched over his head, hands clutching the headboard, muscles straining as he arched into Phil's touch. The sight of him stretched out like that, panting and gasping, had Phil murmuring about how gorgeous he was coming apart like that for him. Clint's hips lifted off the mattress as he thrust into Phil's hand at the praise and the stroking. Within moments his stomach and chest were painted in his and Phil's come as they both plummeted noisily over the edge.

***

The rest of Phil’s time at the cabin passed in a sex-induced blur. Clint barely left his side, disappearing only to collect some things from his own place and head into town a couple of times to check in with his friend and business partner (a fascinating redhead whose poker-face almost out-deadpanned Phil’s… almost. She was also the closest thing he had to Pack).

Other than that the pair were inseparable; finishing repairs to the cabin - in between bouts of incredible sex, making it to the bedroom on at least half those occasions; or spending time lazing in bed chatting quietly, finding things out about each other and making out like a couple of teenagers. They fixed and ate light and quick meals to regain their energy enabling them to start all over again. It was the best damned vacation of Phil’s life.

But as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end, and Phil eventually had to return to New York and work.

They said their goodbyes at the cabin rather than town, something that was more difficult than either of them would have believed after so short a time.

“Don’t know what you’ve done to me, Phil Coulson. I always thought I was happy on my own. Never wanted a mate. But you… you've changed that,” Clint told him quietly trying not to hold him too tight.

Phil closed his eyes and swallowed, his heart soaring and breaking at the same time. It was exactly what he was thinking but Clint had managed to put it into words far more eloquently than he ever could. They’d talked long into the night about keeping their relationship going when Phil left agreeing they could, _would_ make it work. Although he travelled sometimes for his job and it wasn't always nine to five, Monday to Friday, in reality Phil was only a couple of hours away by car and there were weekends when he could get them, and holidays, and the occasional mid-week jaunt when he could manage. He didn’t expect or want Clint to move to the city. He was a wolf at heart and would miss the freedom of the woods.

“Gonna miss you, Wolf. Be safe,” Phil told him gently, brushing his thumb against Clint’s cheek, kissing him softly on his lips.

“You too, Cool Fucker,” Clint whispered.

***

Two weeks and one day later, Phil sauntered back into his office to find his boss behind his desk, hands clasped over his belly giving him his best death-glare.

“Nick,” he said by way of a greeting, dropping casually into the visitor’s chair on the other side looking more relaxed and chilled than Fury ever remembered seeing him.

“Well, well, Cheese. The wilderness seems to agree with you. You look like the motherfucker who got the cream.”

Phil held his gaze but remained silent. Other than the slight smile curling up the corner of his mouth, his bland expression gave nothing away.

“Fuck me! You _met_ someone! You’ve been up there getting your ass pounded like a senior on spring fucking break.”

For a moment Phil kept up his silence but Nick had opened the door… so fuck him. “How d’you know I wasn’t doing the pounding?”

Fury straightened in his seat pulling a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp… well Phil’s seat. Semantics. “Fuck! I do _not_ want to know.”

Phil smirked. He knew Nick had no issues with his sexuality - they wouldn't be friends if he did. On the contrary, he’d always been incredibly supportive especially when others hadn’t. He just didn’t need to have the image in his head of his oldest friend fucking or being fucked by anyone. It tended to mess with his day.

“If you’re thinking of selling the cabin, I’d be interested in buying.”

“Why the fuck don’t you build your own?”

“Pretty sure that’s what I’ve been doing the last couple of weeks,” Phil retorted.

Fury at least had the grace to look apologetic. “That bad, huh?”

“Wasn’t good.”

“Shit, man! Sorry. Been an age since I was out there. Keep the keys. Looks like you earned it. _All_ of it. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you look so _damn_ happy. If I need it, I’ll ask.”

Phil shook his head. “Appreciate the offer, Nick, but... I can’t do that. I need it to be mine. I understand if you want to hold on to it, it's a beautiful place up there. I’ll look for something else.”

Fury sighed. Phil Coulson and his damned principles. He reached across the desk, plucking Phil’s wallet from his inside jacket pocket. Had it been anyone else, they’d probably have ended up with a broken wrist for their trouble.

Perusing the notes, he extracted a $10 bill from it and threw it back to him. Phil had been a good friend over the years, the best in many ways, and had saved his life on more than one occasion. If a fucked up cabin in the woods made him happy it was a small price to pay.

“Fine. Cabin’s yours. I’ll bring in the papers next time I get a chance.” He pushed himself off the seat. “This mean I have to pull you from the weekend roster?”

“And get used to me actually taking holidays,” Phil told him with a half-smile, standing to shake his hand to seal the deal. Fury pulled him into a one armed hug and slapped his back.

“Huh! Must be quite something,” he told Phil. “When do I get to meet him?”

You’ve no idea, thought Phil. Apart from the fact Clint was an extraordinary man full of contradictions; confident yet self-conscious, smart but underplayed his intelligence, wild and gentle; he’d also watched him Shift once when they were together. He was indeed “quite something” although not perhaps in the way his friend meant.

“Next time I need repairs done on the cabin,” Phil deadpanned.

“Fucking funny, Cheese,” Marcus told him as he departed Phil’s office in a swirl of leather coat and foul-language. “Very fucking funny.”


End file.
